


coiled in his blood

by phantisma



Category: Supernatural/Arrow
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 23:09:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantisma/pseuds/phantisma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a hunt brings Sam and Dean to Starling City, it's inevitable that their paths will cross with the city's hooded vigilante.</p>
            </blockquote>





	coiled in his blood

Dean leaned against the car and eyed the nightclub. It wasn’t his kind of joint. In fact, he was pretty much the exact opposite of his kind of joint. But he really wanted a drink and this was one place he knew his brother wouldn’t come looking for him.

He wasn’t hiding from Sam. Not exactly. It was just a strong need to not have to sit in the same room with him for a little while, not feel the weight of everything between them, all the bad decisions, all of the loss, all of the fucked up pain they shared…all of the guilt he felt for the way he couldn’t stop blaming Sam for things that weren’t his fault.

And Sam was being hyper vigilant in the last few weeks. Ever since he’d walked away from whatever slice of normal he’d found in Dean’s absence…and fuck if that didn’t just add to the guilt, even if he didn’t let it show.

He’d left Sam researching whatever the hell they were there for and had taken a solo tour of the scenes of attack, finding nothing.

He pushed off the car and headed for the front door of the club, delving in his pocket for the cover charge. Some crappy techno-house junk was blaring through the door as it opened, nearly driving him back to the car before he’d even gotten inside.

The crowd inside was typical, young and beautiful and stupid and there to be seen. He watched one beautiful blond lead her two girlfriends to the dance floor, licking his lips as his eyes traced the kind of curves a man would crawl out of hell for, then shook his head and made his way to the bar.

Dean found a spot where he could see the door and the bulk of the room and put a twenty on the bar, hoping it would draw the bar tender’s attention.

“I wouldn’t just leave your money there like that,” a voice said beside him.

Dean looked up, but left his hand on the twenty. The guy that the bartender was instantly on alert for was about his height, his hair cropped close, his face scruffy. “Beer, Joe, and one for my friend.”

Dean turned to look at the bartender, nodding. “And a shot of whiskey.”

“Make that two.”

“Look, buddy, no offense, but I ain’t looking for—“ The guy turned to look him in the face and the intensity in his eyes stopped Dean cold. There was a predator inside this man, violence coiled in his blood. Dean had no doubt in that split second that this man, whoever he was, could do things to Dean that would break him. He was the first to look away though, smiling at the bartender as drinks were set down.

“Thanks, Joe.” The man lifted the shots and handed one to Dean.

Dean took it, lifting it to his lips, but his eyes were stuck on this man’s throat, watching him swallow. He shook his head and tossed back the whiskey. This guy was trouble like he seriously didn’t need. He focused his attention on his beer instead, but the guy didn’t seem to be leaving.

He picked up his beer, turned to lean on the bar, his eyes sweeping over the place. Dean was half way through his beer when the guy spoke again. “No offense, but this doesn’t seem to be your kind of place.”

“Is it that obvious?” Dean asked, putting his beer down.

“Every time a new song starts, you make a face. If you don’t like the music, why are you here?”

Dean rolled his eyes and sighed. “I’m enjoying a beer.” His eyes tracked a woman in a skirt that almost covered her ass.

The guy beside him chuckled. “She is so far out of your reach you need a crane to get there.”

Dean snorted and stood. “I do all right.”

“Yeah, her father owns his own zip code.” He smiled, his eyes on Dean again, the intensity hot on his skin. He held out a hand. “I’m Oliver Queen.”

“Dean Winchester.” He shook the hand, kicking himself for giving his real name.

Oliver smirked at him. “You were going to lie to me, and didn’t.”

“I’m not going to lie to you and tell you I wasn’t.” Dean answered, shaking his head. “I didn’t come in here to make friends.”

“I knew that the moment I saw you. Guy like you walks into a club like this, he’s either hiding or looking for trouble.” He put his beer back on the bar and leveled those intense eyes on him. “You here to make trouble, Dean?”

Something about the man had Dean off his game. He tried to shrug it off, find his feet. “No, Oliver, I’m not.”

He nodded, his eyes holding Dean to the spot. Then he smiled and looked up, catching the bartender’s eye and gesturing at Dean. “Good. I’ll leave you to your hiding. Put your money away. Drinks are on the house.”

He was gone a second later and Dean frowned at the empty space beside him. “I’m not hiding either,” he said to himself. Not exactly. He rolled his eyes and finished his beer, sliding the twenty off the bar and back into his pocket. He sighed and shook his head as he headed for the door.

His phone rang as he was getting to the car and he pulled it out to answer as he unlocked the door. “Sam?”

“Hey, where are you?”

Dean got into the car and pulled the door shut. “I looked at the first two scenes again. You know how we thought the witness statements described hell hounds? I don’t think so. Or, if it is one it’s off its leash. It didn’t go after a specific person. It looks like it killed whoever it could get to.”

“There was another attack.” Sam said. Dean could hear his fingers on the keyboard of his computer. “15896 Industrial, it’s right across the street from the first attack.”

“Another abandoned plant?”

“Yeah, textiles this time.”

“And the victim?”

“Not sure. Police are still there.”

“Okay, I’ll check it out.”

“Be careful, apparently this city has some…vigilante guy who kills people with a bow and arrow.”

“Great, cause a psycho hell hound isn’t enough to make this place fun. Okay, I’ll call when I have anything.”

Dean started the car. He’d been in the building where the first attack had happened only an hour or so before. He rummaged in the glove box for the US Marshall’s badge and slipped it into the pocket of his jacket.

The story was he and Sam were hunting a fugitive that used dogs to kill. He pulled up alongside a police car and got out, his eyes sweeping the street. Men in uniform milled about and two gurneys were coming out of the building with body bags strapped to them.

Dean held up the badge and held up a hand to the EMT pushing the first gurney, steeling himself and pulling the zipper down. The stench of sulfur greeted him along with the sight of blood. The victim had been slashed down the face with enough force to crack open his skull. There were more slashes on his chest and stomach. “Anything missing?” Dean asked as the coroner approached.

“Heart, liver, kidneys. First blow killed him.” The man pointed to the face blow. “The rest seems to be to get at the organs.”

Dean nodded and pointed to the other body. “Same with that one?”

“Yes, though he seems to have suffered more. The first blow didn’t kill him and he was still alive when the animal started eating him.”

“I understand this plant is abandoned, how were they found?”

“Excuse me, who are you?”

Dean looked up at the detective approaching, pulling his badge back out. “US Marshall, I’m tracking a fugitive who kills with dogs.”

“Well Marshall, this is my crime scene.”

Dean held up both hands and nodded. “Not meaning to step on any toes, Detective….”

“Quentin Lance.” He sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry. This is the fourth one of these in a little over a week. We’ve got nothing so far.”

“This guy is good. Doesn’t leave a lot of evidence. How did you find the bodies?”

“Someone called it in. They saw one of the guys running. The other was the owner of the property, just getting out of his car. They both ran inside. The witness says that whatever was chasing them was big and black and definitely animal.”

Dean nodded. “Sounds like our guy. He breeds them for size and strength.”

“What’s this fugitive’s name?”

“We don’t know. He got caught a few months ago, right? He’s got no fingerprints, like they were burned off with acid or something. He doesn’t speak, he’s not in the system. No facial recognition or nothing. Then as he’s being transferred to the country lock up to wait for trial, he breaks out, kills two other prisoners, the bus driver and the sheriff’s deputies assigned to the bus.”

“What about the dogs?”

Dean shrugged, moving them closer to the door of the building. “Sheriff’s thought they had them all, put them all down. Obviously they were wrong.” He gestured at the door. “You finished in there? Mind if I take a look around?”

For a minute, he was sure the detective was going to say no, but instead he nodded. “Fresh eyes couldn’t hurt. But watch yourself. We have no idea where the dog disappeared to.”

Dean nodded and pulled a flashlight out of his pocket. He ducked under the crime scene tape and turned the light on, stepping over debris that bore signs of the animal. Whatever it was, it had claws the size of a bear’s. He could hear the ambulance pulling out with the dead bodies and the sounds of men leaving.

The path wasn’t hard to follow, claw marks in the tables and equipment leading him back to the first pool of blood. He squatted beside it, running his light over the blood, then around it, though he honestly didn’t know what he was looking for. With a sigh, Dean pulled the EMF detector out of his pocket and flipped it on, standing slowly as he swept it around him.

The EMF was flat, and he moved from the first blood pool to the next. Whatever kind of dog this was, it was big, and it was corporeal judging from the one pristine, bloody paw print it left beside the second scene. Dean shook his head and moved back toward the door. He needed daylight, and more eyes than just his to really check the scene.

Detective Lance was waiting as he emerged. “Find anything we missed?”

Dean shook his head. “No, but I didn’t really expect to. I would like to come back with my partner tomorrow though, he knows more about the dogs this bastard kept than I do.”

“Suit yourself. Let me know if you find anything.”

“You too, Detective.” He pulled out a card with nothing but his cell number scribbled on it. “I realized this morning I’m out of my business cards, but you can reach me at this number. This guy is dangerous.”

Lance took the card, but didn’t look like he was inclined to call Dean at all.

Dean watched him drive away and crossed to the car, pulling his phone out and dialing Sam. “So we got two dead guys. One died when a dog’s claw took his face off and spilled his brains out. Heart, kidney, liver all eaten. Second bastard wasn’t as lucky. He was still alive when he was eaten.”

“So, not a hell hound?”

Dean shook his head. “There was definitely sulfur, I could smell it when I opened the body bag. But hell hounds don’t eat their victims.”

“You coming back?”

“Yeah. In a bit.” His eyes caught on movement down the street. “I want to check something out.”

“Dean, you shouldn’t go digging alone. Not when we don’t even know what it is.”

“I’ll be fine, Sam. Just keep digging. See if you can figure out what it is.” He hung up and slipped his gun out of his waistband, his eyes focused on the shadows he’d seen moving down by the next building. He slipped out of the street light’s reach, into the shadows, following the wall of the building. The warehouse was falling down, it’s boarded up windows broken into, the roof partially caved in.

All of the attacks had taken place within a few city blocks. It stood to reason that the beast was hiding in the area. He adjusted his grip on the gun and the flashlight as he stepped through an opening into the building. He saw movement again, just ahead of him and dropped into a crouch, hiding behind a stack of palettes, though not knowing what he was hunting made it difficult to know if it would sense him or smell him. He eased around the palettes and behind some crates, eyes sweeping around him.

There. Dean pointed his gun, up at the cat walk where he swore he just saw a dark figure moving. He followed the catwalk, but didn’t see it again. He squinted into the shadows and almost missed the arrow that came roaring at him. He moved just enough to avoid it, turning to stare at it embedded in the crate beside him before launching himself at the hooded man coming at him.

Dean put his head down and crashed into him and they both hit the ground. The man’s bow skittered away across the floor with Dean’s gun flying in the other direction. Before Dean could take advantage of landing on top, a stone-like fist crashed into his ribs and he was forced off the man. He scrambled back, climbing to his feet. The man was wearing some kind of hood that hid his face in shadow, and he moved fast, nimble and quick on his feet.

They circled and Dean licked his lips. “You the sicko controlling the hell hound?”

“What are you talking about?” The man’s voice was deep and familiar somehow.

“You know, the deranged doggie that’s killing people? That your work?”

He closed in, his punches landing despite Dean’s best effort to evade them until Dean grabbed him and shoved him into a pile of crates. He looked around him for his gun, diving for it. The hooded guy followed, landing on Dean before he got his hand on the gun.

The sound of growling froze them both, and in a blur of black and shadow, Dean felt the weight of his assailant ripped off him. There was a yell and a yelp and Dean’s hand closed on the gun. He brought it up, only to have it knocked away by a giant, claw filled paw.

Claws raked down his hand and he kicked at the underbelly of the beast in an effort to keep it off him. Suddenly the damn thing turned, snapping it’s ugly jaws at the hooded man who had retrieved his bow. Dean got to his feet, cradling his hand and making for his gun. The room reeked of sulfur and Dean remembered he had a flask of holy water in his pocket.

He fished it out and moved a little closer as he opened it. “Nice demon doggie.” Dean threw the splash of holy water at the mammoth dog. It screamed, smoke rising from its skin where the water hit and it charged at Dean, sending him flying into a stack of palettes that broke beneath him.

Well, that helped narrow down what the damn thing was. Except for how it didn’t. Hell spawn at least. Though hell hounds weren’t usually visible to the naked eye. The hooded guy was there, helping him up, though Dean could see now that he was bleeding profusely. He wasn’t armed for this kind of animal, and this guy’s arrows weren’t going to be any help. They needed to get to cover.

“We need to get some distance.” Dean said.

“Not arguing.”

He gestured behind them. The dog charged and they ducked away, and as soon as the dog had cleared them, Dean grabbed for him and they ran the opposite direction. Dean heard it hit the wall as he slipped an arm around the guy’s waist, tugging him toward a darker corner. He shoved into the first door he found, dragging the increasingly dead weight of hooded guy with him.

It wasn’t going to take the animal long to figure out where they’d gone, not with the trail of blood they’d left behind them. Dean pushed the door shut and looked around them. They were in some sort of office. He eased his now unconscious companion to the floor and started moving furniture to block the door, a desk first, then piling chairs and whatever else he could find. Even so, it wasn’t going to be enough.

He scouted the room for weapons and hiding places, eventually finding a smaller office with a door that opened inward. “Okay, buddy. I’m betting on you not being a psycho killer with a pet demon dog, since it attacked you too. I’d appreciate it.”

He dragged the man into the smaller office, laying him on the floor before going back out to drag other furniture in front of the door. Another desk, a shelving unit…with a bottle of bleach on it. Bleach might help disguise their scent, confuse the bastard. He opened the bleach and started at the spot of blood from where his companion had been laying, spreading it out over the floor as widely as he could.

Then Dean got the desk up against the door frame and got the shelving unit leaning against it before he climbed over the desk and wrestled the shelving unit up on top.

Dean closed the door and tried to catch his breath. He could hear the dog howling. He threw the lock on the door, and huffed as he moved to the book shelf that seemed to be just about all the was left in the small room. It was heavy though, solid oak and by the time he got it in position, leaning against the door, he could hear the dog throwing itself against the outer office door. He retreated back into the room, sitting beside the hooded guy to wait.

The man beside him stirred and Dean put a hand on his mouth. “Quiet.” Dean barely whispered. The man nodded and Dean moved his hand. Outside their hiding place, a loud crash made the walls shake. There was growling and howling and more crashing and Dean knew the bastard had gotten into the room.

Beside him the man tried to sit and Dean pressed him back down. “Lie still.”

“A few minutes ago you tried to kill me,” he said.

“A few minutes ago I thought you were someone you’re not.” Dean replied.

“It’s still out there.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, we’re stuck for now.”

“What the hell is it?”

Dean exhaled and shifted to take off his jacket and his button down. “Not sure. I thought it was a hell hound at first, but damn thing is corporeal, so now…” He shook his head and ripped the sleeve off the button down, winding it around his bleeding hand. He fished his lighter out of his pocket and lit it, holding it up to get a look around them. There wasn’t much to see. “Can you tell me how bad you’re hurt?”

He pressed a hand to his wounded side and shook his head lightly. “Okay, let’s get this thing off you, so I can get a look. It took him a minute to figure out the odd garment, but eventually he found skin. Bloody skin. He moved the lighter closer so he could see. Two claws had ripped through the leather and raked through skin. The bleeding seemed to be slowing, but Dean couldn’t be sure how deep the injury was with just his lighter for light.

“Okay, I’m going to bandage this up. Try to be still and quiet.”

He tore his shirt up and folded a bandage from it, pressing it to the wound and tying strips together to wrap around his chest, tying it down over the bandage. It wasn’t until he was done that he got a good look at his companion’s face.

“Oliver Queen? From the night club?”

He sort of smiled, then grimaced, his hand pressing against his wound. “Yeah. I followed you. Knew you were trouble.”

“Me? I had this under control until you walked in.”

“You lied to the police.” Oliver said.

“Says the guy in a hood who kills people.” Dean stood and moved closer to the door, listening to the animal on the other side. It was clearly thrown by the bleach, but not done looking for them. Behind him, light flared and he turned.

Oliver had a small hand held light that put off a fair amount of light. He was climbing to his feet, though he listed and stumbled toward the wall.

“You lost a lot of blood.” Dean said, moving back to his side. “I don’t think you should be moving around."

“We need to find a way out of here.”

Dean snorted and shook his head. “My brother knows where I am…more or less. He’ll come looking if I don’t show up. Besides, I’m betting Fido out there will give up sooner or later. We just have to wait it out.”

Oliver already looked like he wasn’t going anywhere fast, sinking slowly down the wall. Dean took the light from him. “I could have used this when I was checking your wounds.”

“Forgot I had it.”

Dean stepped over him, using the light to search out the corners of the room, hoping for there to be more there than his original sweep had showed him. He shook his head and came back to Oliver on the floor. “Okay, so, we wait this thing out. Then I’ll get you to a hospital.”

Oliver was drifting off, his eyes closed, his face slack. Dean knelt beside him, turning the light to his bare chest. The shirt-bandage seemed to have been enough to stop the bleeding, but with the light, Dean could see that this was not Oliver’s first serious injury. In fact, his body was marked with scars that reminded Dean of something he’d been trying to forget.

He sat back, leaning against the wall beside Oliver, listening as the beast in the next room got angrier and started to crash into things. From the sound of it, whatever common sense it possessed was gone in the rage. It roared and Dean could feel the sound in his stomach. It too reminded him of things he’d rather not think about.

He turned the light off and closed his eyes. He understood the rage, the fury. It was so easy to sink into, to let it fill you and re-make you. He hadn’t been much different not so long ago.

The walls shook, the sound of furniture breaking echoing and Oliver’s hand grabbed Dean’s thigh tight. “Hey, it’s okay.” Dean said, his eyes on the door, making sure they were safe. “It’s still out there.”

Oliver’s eyes burned with an intensity as they found him, like they had in the club. Dean pried his hand up and held it in his own, nodding. “I know. I get it.”

He shook his head, his eyes closing. “You can’t. You weren’t there.”

“No, but I know someone who’s survived purgatory when I see him.” Dean offered, turning his head toward Oliver.

He snorted. “Purgatory, huh? I guess that fits.”

“Judging from the scars, it wasn’t an easy tour either.” Dean understood that too, the way scars mark the changes that go so much deeper than the skin, but never really tell the tale to anyone who hasn’t got his own marks. Oliver’s purgatory might not have actually been purgatory, but in the end that didn’t matter so much. “It changes you.” Dean said softly.

Oliver pulled his hand free and rubbed over his face. “Yeah? What would you know?”

Dean shrugged and pulled his jacket to him, fishing the flask of whiskey out of the inside pocket. “Been there. Done that.” He took a sip and offered the flask to Oliver who shook his head. “Maybe not the same as you, but I’ll go out on a limb and say it was at least as bad.”

“Prison?” Oliver asked, one eyebrow cocking up.

Dean rolled his eyes. “No.” He pushed himself up off the floor to pace. He was agitated now, memory flaring that he’d fought to suppress. “And yes, sort of.“ He shook his head. “I spent more than a year fighting for my life in that place. Constantly running, constantly trying to keep myself alive.”

“Where?” Oliver asked, looking up at him.

“Purgatory.” Dean responded without thinking.

“Why do I get the feeling that you aren’t being facetious?”

Dean shook his head and went to listen at the door. “Doesn’t matter anyway. It’s over. I’m out. My brother and I have work to do.”

“Work that involves fake IDs and lying to the cops?”

Dean could still hear the beast, though it wasn’t as close now. “We…hunt things that most cops wouldn’t know how to handle on their best day. Things like our friend out there.”

“Demons.” Oliver said, his voice soft.

“Yeah.” Dean answered. “Among other things.”

“And you don’t mean that metaphorically.” Oliver said.

Dean grinned and shook his head. “Not so much.” He flashed the light over Oliver. “What about you?”

“Me?”

Dean gestured at the collection of scars. “I’m betting your own hell wasn’t anything like mine, but it looks like there’s a story there.” He narrowed his eyes. “One that leads to being a vigilante?”

Oliver shifted uncomfortably. “Shipwrecked on an island for 5 years.”

“All by yourself?” Dean came back to where Oliver sat against the wall.

“Other than the animals.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, shining the light on a scar that he knew didn’t come from an animal. “With arrows?”

“They were…big animals.” Oliver said dryly.

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, okay. We get out of this, you’ll have to tell me more.”

“Yeah, you too.”

Dean crossed back to the door, listening intently. “I think its moved on. But we should wait a bit longer. Not knowing exactly what it is, I can’t judge how smart it is.”

“You think it’s lying in wait out there?”

Dean shrugged. “I don’t know.”

They were quiet then, Dean pacing the small room wall to wall.

“You know, you need to learn a little patience.” Oliver said after a while.

“I’m patient.” Dean countered, then cracked his neck. “Okay, I don’t like waiting.”

Oliver pushed himself up the wall. “Okay, so let’s get out of here.”

Dean eyed him, trying to decide how serious he was and how badly his injury would hinder them if they found the damn thing again. He shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Okay, so tell me something then. Get your mind off it.”

Dean frowned at him. “Like what?”

He shrugged, holding on to the wall. “I don’t know, about this work you do?”

Dean made a face, rolled his eyes. “My brother and I, we hunt. Supernatural bad guys.”

“Like demon dogs?”

“First time I’ve seen Fido out there, but yeah. Things like demon dogs. Demons, ghosts, witches, vampires. Things you don’t even want to know about.” Images of some of those things filled his head, as they had been in Purgatory, stronger and more powerful than they’d been on earth.

“It’s easy to lose yourself.” Oliver said in the silence left by Dean’s withdrawal into his head. “To stay alive.”

Dean nodded, closing his eyes and pushing the thought away.

“Dean! Dean!”

“Sam.” Dean breathed the name. “My brother,” he offered in an aside to Oliver. He went to the door to push the shelving unit clear. “Sam! In here.” He pulled the door open and Sam was on the other side, pushing furniture aside. “Is it gone?”

Sam nodded breathlessly. “I watched it leave.”

Dean reached back for Oliver, guiding him through the door. “We should move. It could come back.”

The animal had wrecked the place, smashing through windows and breaking furniture. It hadn’t been far from getting in to them, the desk was covered in claw marks.

“Found your phone, and your gun.” Sam held them up.

Dean took them with a nod of thanks. They moved out of the office and back into the warehouse. The beast had destroyed a lot in its frustration. Oliver pulled away from Dean as they got to the spot where they’d fought. He bent over to retrieve his bow, holding his side. “I think this is where I go my own way, boys.”

“Oliver—“ Dean turned to argue with him, tell him he needed a hospital, but he was already gone, vanishing into the shadows. Dean sighed and shook it off. They didn’t need to be burdened by a civilian anyway…even one who could fight the way he could.

“You going to tell me what that was about?” Sam asked.

“You know that vigilante you warned me about?” Dean responded, gesturing to where Oliver had just stood. “He was investigating too. “

“So, did you get a look at it, could you tell what it was?”

Dean shook his head. “No, but I have an idea how to kill it. Come on, I’ll tell you as we go.”

 

 

“Do you actually think this is going to work?” Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. “Got a better idea?”

“No.” Sam still didn’t look convinced, even as Dean finished dropping the rosaries.

“It’ll work.”

“Of course, first we have to find it.”

Dean huffed and stood back from the pool. At one time it had been some part of some chemical processing in yet another abandoned factory and it had taken them three days to fill it with water. It was deep, nearly twenty feet, which should give them plenty of room.

“That thing is going to sink like a stone. I saw how it reacted to holy water, Sam. Once it’s submerged and getting a lungful of the stuff, it’ll be lights out.”

“And what…we’re just going to go stand out front and wait for it?”

That part wasn’t as solid, he admitted that. “It hunts around here. It’s probably nesting around here. We split up, but don’t go far, keep this place in sight. When it starts coming, we run for the pool, dive in. It follows. It’s over.”

“Now that sounds like a stupid plan.”

Dean turned to find Oliver, in his hood, just barely visible in the shadows.

“Yeah, well…it’s the best we got right now. That thing has killed three more people. You got any better ideas?”

Oliver stepped closer, lifting his bow. “Thought I could take a shot at it.”

“No offence, but no.” Dean said, pushing past him.

“At least let me help. Three heads are better than two.”

“You’re still injured.” Dean turned and grabbed his side, watching him wince. “You’ll get one of us killed.”

“Dean, we could use a pair of eyes.” Sam said, looking up toward the roof.

Dean stopped, looked at Oliver, then his brother, then the roof. “Yeah, okay. He’s right. Get up top, keep an eye open. Let us know if you see it.” He didn’t have to look to know Oliver was already on the move. “Okay, Sam. Let’s go bait our trap.”

He didn’t expect they would have long to wait. The thing had killed early every night since he’d seen it, and while they didn’t know what it was doing after it killed, they could at least try to offer it dinner. He walked down toward the first scene while Sam headed the other way, neither of them making any attempt to be stealthy.

Dean was beginning to think that maybe the damn thing was smarter than he’d thought when an arrow hit the wall beside him. He looked up, nodding as he saw a dark figure detach itself from the shadows. He took off at a run, hoping Sam got the heads up too and would get out of sight until he and the beast had gone past him.

He didn’t have time to worry about it though, he could feel the damn thing closing the distance. He ran through the open door, bouncing off the crates they’d stacked to make it follow a specific path. It was growling and a swipe of one massive claw only barely missed him.

Behind him it howled as if in pain as Dean cleared the crates and raced for the pool. He saw a flash that might have been Oliver above them, then dove into the water, kicking and swimming hard for the other side. He felt it when the dog hit the water, heard it roar. The water around him was roiling as Dean finally reached the other side and pulled himself out.

The animal was struggling, but going under, smoke rising as it burned with the holy water. Sam appeared opposite Dean, and Oliver offered Dean a hand to help him up. Slowly they circled the pool, back toward Sam. Dean could see now that the animal had a couple of arrows sticking out of its hide.

“Dude, it’s like a hell hound mated with a black dog and the offspring got rabies.” Sam said, turning away as the dog stopped struggling and sank in the water.

“But it’s dead.” Dean said. “Still think it was a stupid plan?” he asked, turning to Oliver, who was already gone. “Son of a bitch.”

Sam chuckled and shook his head. “Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.

 

 

Dean sat at a bar, nursing a glass of whiskey. Sam was asleep, back at the motel, but Dean was too keyed up, adrenaline still pumping through him. It had stirred up memories, of running through Purgatory, things worse than hell hounds hunting him and now he wasn’t sure he would be sleeping for a while.

“See, now **this** seems like your kind of place.”

Dean looked up as Oliver, minus the hood, took the stool next to him. “You know, I had Sammy look you up.” He turned, an eyebrow raised. “You didn’t tell me you were rich and famous.”

“Only famous for being rich.” Oliver countered, smirking. “If you had known, how would I ever know if you wanted me for me?”

Dean chuckled and lifted his glass. “So why?”

Oliver flagged down a beer and shrugged. “Because I can?”

“No, I’m not buying it.”

“Well, it’s not a conversation for a place like this.” Oliver responded. “Suffice it to say, I made a promise to my father.”

That at least Dean could understand. “Yeah, I know that story well enough.”

“I did a little digging on you too, Dean Winchester. I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you’re dead.”

Dean chuckled and nodded. “Oh, yeah. Several times over. Been upstairs, been downstairs, been shoved into Purgatory fully alive.” He tossed back the last of the whiskey. “My life is…complicated.”

“You don’t say.” Oliver said dryly.

“Whatever it is you learned on your island hell, you fight better than anyone I’ve ever seen, and considering what I’ve seen, you should consider it a huge compliment.”

“You’re not bad yourself. Little sloppy, but not bad.”

“Sloppy?” Dean raised an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge?”

Oliver chuckled and put his beer down. “Sloppy. You’re fast, I’ll give you that, but you telegraph moves, you don’t protect yourself…you know, if you’re going to be around for a bit, I could teach you a few things.”

“Yeah?” Dean told himself no, that this was not someone he wanted to get involved with, even if that involvement was just sparring. Problem was, Oliver was looking at him with those eyes, all intense and focused and Dean’s senses were all ablaze with desire that was only partly to do with learning new skills.

“Give me a couple weeks, I’ll teach you to do more than just survive a fight.”

He knew he should make an excuse and get out of there. “I…my brother…” He shook his head. “This is a bad idea.”

Oliver smirked and held up a folded up piece of paper. “Come to this address tomorrow around noon.” He sauntered away without looking back and Dean could only stare at the address and lift his hand for another drink.

 

 

 

“Tell me again why I’m doing this?” Dean asked as he picked himself up off the floor mats for the hundredth time. His body was bruised in places he didn’t want to think about, his skin thick with sweat.

“Because you want to be a better fighter.” Oliver countered, moving around him.

“So far all I’m better at is falling down without hurting anything.” He wiped the sweat off his face and circled away from Oliver. Two weeks he’d been here, _learning_ , though most of what he’d learned was that Oliver up close in private was ten times as intense as Oliver in public, and that predatory gleam Dean saw in his eye went deep. Whatever had happened on that island had changed the fundamental nature of a spoiled rich kid into a hunter with a honed and deadly skill set.

“We could take a break.” Oliver said as he moved in close, lifting Dean’s hand to check it for injury.

Dean bit the inside of his cheek in an effort to suppress the reaction Oliver’s closeness was invoking. Oliver’s fingers moved over his skin, pressing in against muscles sore from the work. The air was thick with the scent of two male bodies too close together and Dean was frozen to the spot by the look in Oliver’s eyes.

“Do you want a break, Dean?” Oliver asked, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly.

Dean cleared his throat and pulled his hand away, stepping back and crossing the mats to where his towel was hung. “Yeah, okay. A break would be good.” He wiped his face, then stiffened up when he felt Oliver’s hands on his back.

“Relax. Are you always this tense?”

“Comes with the job.” Dean said as Oliver’s hands settled on his hips.

“You’re not working.”

Dean turned, though Oliver’s hands never left his hips and suddenly he could taste Oliver’s breath. It wouldn’t take much to bring their mouths together. Dean closed his eyes, pushed away the thought. Oliver was not the guy to find comfort in. He wasn’t in Purgatory any more. There were any number of pretty women in the club upstairs he could seduce into bed with him.

“You don’t want easy.” Oliver said softly, his words slipping over Dean’s lips, followed by his own mouth. Dean stepped back instinctively, but Oliver just followed, deepening the kiss, his tongue filling Dean’s mouth. Dean’s back was against a pillar, his head clunking against it.

“Oliver—I—“ Dean exhaled and opened his eyes. Oliver’s face was the same expressionless mask he usually wore, but his eyes…they were burning heat and need and Dean could almost believe that it wouldn’t necessarily matter if it wasn’t something he wanted.

“Tell me no. Tell me now and I’ll ignore the fact that your body is telling a different story.” Oliver said, one hand sliding from Dean’s hip down to his groin. Dean’s cock was already half way there, but the feel of that heat seeping through his sweat pants was enough to bring it the rest of the way.

“I don’t…I haven’t…” Dean shook his head. Not since he parted ways with Benny. “It was different there.”

Oliver nodded. “Yes, it was.” He started to step back.

Dean grabbed his hand. “I haven’t said no.”

Oliver grinned at him. “You haven’t said yes either.”

Dean nodded. He hadn’t, but his cock seemed to think he should. He licked his lips. He had told himself that was behind him, a necessity of being where he was. “Screw it.” He pulled Oliver in, turning them so that it was Oliver with his back against the pillar, covering Oliver’s mouth with his own.

Oliver’s hands were back on his waist, pushing Dean back until his foot caught on the mat and he fell back. Oliver followed, covering Dean’s body with his own. His hands were fast and Dean found himself bare assed against the mat, Oliver’s fingers curling around his cock. Dean got a hand on Oliver’s sweats and pushed at them, finding that just like in everything else, Oliver was way ahead of him, his cock hard and proudly pushing into Dean’s hand.

Dean yelled when Oliver beat him again, getting his mouth around Dean’s cock, licking and sucking until Dean was lifting his hips off the mat. “Holy fuck.”

Oliver lifted his head, pulling his dick from Dean’s hand. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” He moved so that he was between Dean’s legs, tossing his sweats away. His hands slid up Dean’s legs, making him bend his knees and then spread, planting Dean’s feet against the mat. One hand went back to stroking Dean’s cock while the other slipped through his crack, caressing down to his hole.

His finger was dry as it pressed in, pushing against the resistance. Dean exhaled and forced himself to relax, gasping as that finger sank into him. Lube was something of a luxury in Purgatory, and Dean had gotten accustomed to the burn and stretch. Oliver’s finger pulled out of him and Dean watched him stretch behind him, his body glistening in the lights of the training area, his hand slipping under his towel and emerging with a small bottle of gel.

Oliver grinned as he spilled it over his fingers, rubbing his hands together to spread it and warm it. When his hand returned to Dean’s cock, it slid down with ease. Two lubed fingers of his other hand found their way inside him at the same time.

The lube eased the burn and Oliver’s fingers moved inside him, working him open while his other hand lazily stroked Dean’s cock. “You gonna take all day?” Dean asked from between clenched teeth.

Oliver cocked an eyebrow at him. “Why, you planning on going somewhere?”

He added a third finger, cutting off Dean’s response. This was nothing like it had been. There it was fast and dirty, get off, get done, get going again. Just take the edge off, just beat back the aching need for touch, just survive.

Oliver must have read that on his face. “Not there any more.”

Dean closed his eyes and turned his head. To his surprise, strong fingers caught his chin and turned his face back. “Look at me.”

Something in his voice was commanding and Dean opened his eyes. “You’re not there any more. You’re here.” He punctuated the last word with a twist of his fingers inside Dean and Dean was seeing stars.

“Yeah, okay.”

Oliver smiled. “Good. I like the person I’m about to fuck to be here.” His fingers moved out and he slipped his cock out of his pants, pushing Dean’s knees back toward his chest a little, repositioning himself until Dean could feel the tip of his cock brushing through his crack. Oliver guided his cock to Dean’s hole, rubbing it around it before pushing in.

Even with the prep work, Oliver’s cock was thick and it took a few strokes to fully fill Dean. They were both starting to breathe heavy as Oliver paused, one hand moving to stroke Dean’s cock. Dean squeezed his ass around Oliver to encourage him to do more than sit there with his cock fully inside of Dean and jerk Dean off.

Oliver took the hint, pulling back slowly before pressing in again, just as slowly. Dean opened his mouth to snark at him about the pace, when Oliver tilted his hips and shoved in the last little bit. Sparks exploded inside him and Dean grabbed at his cock as it unexpectedly exploded. Oliver chuckled and pushed Dean back, rolling him toward his shoulders before he pulled out and shoved in again. Dean’s cock kept leaking come as Oliver snapped his hips, faster and faster now that he’d pushed Dean over the edge first.

He pulled out as he started to come, spilling over Dean’s thighs as he let Dean’s legs lower back to the mat. He was laughing as he rolled to his back beside Dean.

“What’s so funny?” Dean asked, getting up to get his towel to clean up.

“I figured we’d have hit this point a week ago.” Oliver said, sitting up. “You’re a stubborn bastard.”

“Just figuring that out now?” Dean asked, though he smirked. “I never planned on….”

Oliver nodded and climbed to his feet, picking up Dean’s sweats and tossing them at him. “Yeah, I know. Before the island, I never even considered a guy either. And until I saw you walk into my club, I haven’t considered it since.”

Dean pulled his pants on, shaking his head. “It was a way to not give up. There, I mean. It wasn’t about…” He turned for his bottle of water. “I don’t know.”

“It isn’t weakness to need someone to touch you, Dean.” Oliver said, his breathe ghosting over Dean’s shoulder.

The silence settled around them until Dean’s phone rang. He picked it up, stepping away from Oliver. “Hey Sam. No, it’s good. See you then.” He sighed and dropped the phone in his bag.

“He coming back?”

Dean nodded. “He’s about a day’s drive away.”

“Well then, we best put that day to good use. You ready for archery practice?”

 

 

Dean hurt all over as he opened the car door, dropping his bag in the back seat before sinking wearily onto the seat.

“You look like shit.” Sam said, “I thought you were taking some down time.”

Dean chuckled, his eyes closed, his head back. “Yeah, I spent a lot of time down. On my back after Oliver beat the crap out of me.” He hadn’t slept since before that first time they’d fucked. Almost twenty four hours of sparring, shooting and fucking had Dean ready for a few days of sleep.

“You should sleep now then, we got a vampire nest to clean out.”

“Great.”

“Dean.”

He opened his eyes and looked at Sam, who was pointing out the window. Oliver was approaching the car. Dean climbed out again, frowning a little. Oliver’s eyes were hard, intense, his jaw set. “What happened?” Dean asked.

He shook his head. “Just wanted to say goodbye.” He held out his hand and Dean took it, taking the note Oliver slipped him and tucking it away. “I’ve got business.”

Something in his voice told Dean his business involved a green hood and his bow. “Watch your back.”

“Always do.” Dean stepped back, watching Oliver head back into the building, his every step measured, his body tight, the predator inside him coiled in his blood, ready to be released.

Dean shuddered. He wouldn’t want to be the one Oliver’s focus fell on.

“Problem?” Sam asked as he got back in the car.

Dean shook his head. “No, he just wanted to say goodbye.” He pulled the door shut. “We got work to do.”

“Yes, we do.” Sam said, nodding. “Get some sleep. It’s about two hours from here.”

Dean didn’t answer, just closed his eyes and let the image of those eyes fill his mind. There was no doubt that Oliver Queen was a predator, a killer cold and calculating. But then, Dean was too. They just had different targets.


End file.
